


Do You Feel Like A Young God

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Caddy Ben, Country Club George, F/F, M/M, Rich rich sugar daddies, Sleazy Arnold, golf au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 10:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12252660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: Ben has just started working as a caddy at the Culper Country Club. Luckily, his first time on the course is with the nicest man at the club, George Washington. But Ben already has enemies at the club that want him gone, and he needs this job to pay for school. Perhaps Washington can help with that?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts), [grumblebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumblebee/gifts).



George loved playing golf when September turned to October, when the leaves turned red and orange around the country club, and when the breeze was enough to make you shiver in the early morning and late evening. There was a moment, about mid-afternoon, when the sun would shine, the sky would be blue, and the weather was perfect. 

He had been a member of the Culper Country Club his whole life, a legacy with automatic admission, and though he had sneered at the idea of a country club when he was a teenager who only cared about playing lacrosse, he was now much older than that. And he happened to like playing golf and squash and having brunch on the terrace. 

It was all very opulent, and unnecessary, but he was bored, so terribly bored, and this was one of the only things that helped his boredom. 

“Mr. Washington, two p.m. tee time?” Philomena’s voice was soft in the quiet lobby, but she caught his attention all the same. He nodded at her, enough that she could turn on the toe of her pure white sneakers and flounce back to the counter, her plaid golf skirt just a little too high to be coincidental. 

“I love the girls they have working here,” George didn’t have to turn to know Benedict Arnold was sitting beside him, his eyes on Philomena as she typed something into the computer. “They’re all leggy, blonde, beautiful.” 

“Probably specifically for your reaction,” George pointed out, trying to breathe past the faint smell of bourbon on Arnold’s breath. “Are you ready? Our tee time is in five minutes.” 

“Oh, I’m always ready,” Arnold said, puffing out his chest, clad in a slightly too tight green sweater vest. “Ready to lose again, George?” 

“How many times do I have to tell you that this isn’t a competition?” George chuckled, waving one hand at Philomena, who perked up immediately. “It’s just for fun.” Philomena glided into his orbit, sliding him the key to a golf cart. “Thank you, ‘Mena,” he said kindly, sliding a twenty to her. “Put that toward your grad school applications, promise.” 

“Of course, Mr. Washington,” she smiled a bright grin that told George she thought he’d forgotten that she mentioned going to graduate school. He loved those moments. Arnold narrowed his eyes at him. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked under his breath as Philomena passed him another set of keys for his own golf cart, sans smile. “You trying to get with her?” 

“Get with?” George repeated sardonically. “No. I was just…making conversation.” 

“Well, when we get on the course, perhaps you can tell me what you know about her so I can also…make conversation,” Arnold nudged him with his elbow, the entendre crystal clear. 

“I – I don’t mean to – I don’t think she’s interested in you,” George said gently as they pushed open the clubhouse door to the crisp fall air. “I mean…” 

“What?” Arnold asked, casting his eyes about for his usual caddy. “Why wouldn’t she be interested in me?” 

George ducked his head. “Well, she’s…she has a girlfriend.” 

“Excuse me, sir, are you George Washington?” 

A young man with an impressively enchanting pair of blue eyes was standing just behind him, squinting in the sun. He wore the same uniform as all employees of the country club, a pair of khakis and a pale blue polo shirt, brown shoes. 

“I am,” George said, as Arnold continued to splutter in disbelief behind him. “And who might you be?” 

“Benjamin Tallmadge sir, filling in for your usual caddy, Gilbert, if that’s okay,” he averted his gaze, but whether it was from the sun or he was waiting approval, George couldn’t tell. Either way, he found it much easier to think when Benjamin’s blue eyes weren’t fixed on him. 

He extended his hand for the caddy to shake. “It is perfectly fine with me. Have you ever caddied before?” he asked, seeing the way the young man surveyed the bag of clubs with a cautious eye. 

“You’re sure she’s a lesbian?” Arnold said behind him. 

“Benedict, yes, I’m positive, please,” George waved him off as Ben’s eyes moved over to Arnold in alarm. 

“I’ve actually never been…on a golf course before,” Ben said, his gaze coming back to George. 

“Never seen…well, I guess I have a lot to teach you, don’t I?” George asked. Ben, who looked horrified at the beginning of George’s sentence, relaxed and released a smile that George returned. 

***

“Benjamin, can you pass me the nine iron?” George asked. Ben, holding the golf bag, went wide-eyed for a moment before scrambling for the clubs. “It should be right beside the putter.” 

“Come on, Tallmadge, it’s not like you’ve never touched a rod before,” Arnold’s caddy, a man known to George as only Bradford, sneered. Ben, in the act of pulling the nine iron out of the bag, flushed dark red. Arnold snickered. 

George gently took the club from his caddy, searching his visage for any sign of distress. Aside from the blush, he looked unmoved. George suppressed an approving smirk. 

“Do you know this…Bradford fellow?” he asked as Ben trudged after him, his nerves clearly ruining the experience. Ben glanced up at George for a moment, surprised to hear him speaking. He gave him a single nod. “From…school?” 

“We went to college together,” Ben said quietly, trying not to be overheard. 

“Oh? What did you study?” 

“History.” 

George took a moment to look the boy up and down. In his uniform, he didn’t look like a history student, but George could see it. A cardigan, a brown leather bag, and a cup of coffee in his other hand, and Benjamin was on his way to being a young Indiana Jones. 

Indiana Jones didn’t study history, but that was irrelevant. 

To give himself a moment to think, George turned away from Ben and lined up his next shot. Arnold had a killer slice that always knocked at least one drive out of bounds, but he had distance on George. But George was accurate, strategic. 

He swung, satisfied that the ball was going the way he wanted. He turned back to Ben, and caught his eyes staring just a little too low to be looking at where the ball went. He smirked to himself and said nothing instead. 

Let the boy stew. 

By the time George and Arnold finished with their nine holes, George had shaved two strokes off his last score, and Arnold was satisfied that he won. George could hear him bragging about it in his cart to Bradford as they drove off to the club for lunch. 

“Are you going to tell Mr. Arnold that you purposely knocked your ball into the little lake thing?” Ben asked sheepishly, scribbling the final scores on the little card with the tiny pencil. 

George raised an eyebrow. “My dear boy, what makes you think I would endure a stoke penalty on purpose?” 

“Because Mr. Arnold seems like a sore loser,” Ben said truthfully, shrugging. 

“You are correct,” George replied. “But, unfortunately, he works with me, so I am forced to regularly endure his company.” 

“I can see how that would be tiring,” Ben said ruefully. George had to turn away to hide his smirk. Once he relaxed, Benjamin was truly one of the wittiest and most entertaining caddies on the course. Most of them mumbled a lot and tripped when spoken to. Others, like Bradford, liked to take on the persona of the golfer they worked for. 

George could see his opening now, as clearly as an easy put. He only needed to line up the shot – 

“Speaking of tiring, I’m supposed to have lunch with him and his delightful caddy,” George began, leaning just slightly toward Benjamin as he spoke. “I’m sure I can’t convince you to join us, correct, Benjamin?” 

“Of course,” Ben replied instantly. “Wait, no? You can convince me? Your question was posed in a very confusing manner, sir.” 

“But you will come to lunch with us?” George pressed, holding his smile at bay for confirmation. 

“Yes, sir,” Ben said, grinning when George finally smiled. 

“You know you don’t have to call me sir all the time, right?” George asked as he turned on the golf cart. 

“Of course, sir, but I like it,” Ben replied, studiously keeping his eyes on the path.

“Do you?” George asked, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Well…duly noted.” 

***

Approximately ten minutes into lunch (that was more like dinner at six in the afternoon), George was convinced he’d made a terrible mistake. Ben and Bradford didn’t just know each other from college, they hated each other. And Bradford was the type of man to make any snide comment whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

And it was constantly presenting itself. 

“So, Mr. Bradford –”

“Please, call me William –”

“William, rather,” George amended himself. “What did you say you studied in school?” 

“Political science,” Bradford supplied helpfully. “I had no interest in the past, just the future, isn’t that right, Benny boy?” 

“Do not call me that,” Ben said firmly from his side of the table. “Only my friends call me that.” 

“Come on, Benny boy, we’re friends, right?” Bradford asked. “I mean, we’ve known each other for years, went to the same school, played on the same squash team. That would make us friends.” 

“That would make us acquaintances, Braford. If anything, all of this prolonged contact has only given me more reason to dislike you.” 

George turned, surprised to Ben, who was gripping his fork with white-knuckled fury. Arnold, sitting beside Braford, took a hearty swig of what George assumed was more bourbon, and chuckled. 

“Bradford told me that you two got into a brawl in the middle of the front lawn at Yale,” he said, lifting his glass as if toasting what was probably a drunken disorderly arrest. “Boys will be boys, right George?” 

“Certainly,” he replied flatly, his gaze still on Ben. “So, Benjamin –” he said his name sharply enough to pull the boy’s eyes back to him. “Are you going to graduate school for a master’s degree?” 

“Yes, sir, that’s why I got a job here,” Ben admitted. “My classmate, Philomena, she was my reference.” 

“Oh, Philomena,” Arnold said suddenly, with a lurching movement that told George that he was getting drunk. “Tell me, Benjamin, is your friend –”

“I’m sure now is not the time to discuss this, Arnold –”

“George, it’s just a question – now, Benjamin, can you tell me if Philomena is…you know…” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” George heard the omitted “sir” where it should have been said and had to hide his smirk behind his hand. “Could you explain?” 

“You know what I mean, you little upstart,” Arnold was suddenly angry, as he usually was when he started drinking. “Is she a lesbo? A damn queer?” 

George searched the younger man’s face for a sign that he was offended, but he gave away nothing in his face. If anything, he straightened up a little at the words. 

“You mean, is Philomena gay?” he asked. “Yes, she is. Her girlfriend is actually a member here. You might know her…Margaret Shippen?” 

“Peggy Shippen?” Arnold crowed, just loud enough to invite a hush over the room. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” George said sternly, fixing his gaze on Arnold so sharply that the man lowered in his seat. “I have allowed too much without saying anything. Benjamin, I apologize for his behavior,” he turned to Ben, who was still staring at Arnold, his eyes occasionally darting to Bradford, daring him to say something. “Why don’t you allow me to take you home?” 

“That’s not necessary,” Ben said, dropping his napkin onto his plate as he stood, the food completely untouched. 

“I insist,” George said, following suit. Ben regarded him for a moment sternly before nodding. He allowed George to lead him to the front of the club restaurant, the onlookers finally going back to their meals. “Why don’t you go get your things, I need to speak with Philomena.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

Philomena had changed from her clubhouse outfit into a sensible black evening dress in her shift from clubhouse cashier to hostess. She grinned when she saw George approaching. 

“Mr. Washington,” she said graciously. “What can I do for you?” 

He was suddenly irrationally angry at Arnold’s behavior all over again now that he was seeing her kind face. “My caddy, Benjamin Tallmadge, said you were his friend.” 

“We are friends, sir, yes,” she said. 

“Well, he’s had a rather unsettling afternoon, so I’m going to drive him home,” George explained. “Is there any way you can get one of the chefs to make my usual and box it up for him?” 

Philomena nodded. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, sir.” 

“Thank you, ‘Mena,” he replied. 

By the time Ben returned, changed into his normal clothes and carrying a bag over his shoulder, George was holding a bag of food in his hand and his keys in the other. He was only slightly disappointed to find that his fantasy of Ben dressed like a young Harrison Ford was slightly incorrect. He did still carry the brown bag over his shoulder, but he was dressed in dark wash denim jeans and a faded and worn Antiques Roadshow shirt. 

George passed him the bag of food wordlessly and led the way to his car, waiting for Ben to speak. Ben had to deal with the more trying night, so he deserved silence or conversation if he sought it. 

Finally, when the doors closed, George could no longer help himself. 

“Antiques Roadshow?” he asked. 

“Did you buy me food?” Ben shot back, and George was, for a moment, hard pressed to identify his tone. Was he angry? Was he surprised? He couldn’t tell. 

“Well, you were so upset you didn’t get to eat,” George explained. “It’s nothing special, just a grilled cheese with truffle oil and some fries. It’s what I eat when I’m upset.” 

Ben peeked into the bag experimentally and stuck his hand in, pulling out a fry. He chewed pensively, George still waiting to see if he was upset or not. Finally, after a prolonged silence that made George feel increasingly insecure, he passed the bag over. “Want a fry?” 

“Want to tell me about Antiques Roadshow?” George asked instead, pulling out a fry and chewing. 

“My grandmother had tons of antiques,” Ben said as George put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. “I liked to just go up into her attic and read where my brothers wouldn’t bother me, and so I kind of just got used to seeing them. Antiques Roadshow has some cool stuff on it.” 

There was a challenging tone to his voice that George should have expected. He spent all day being teased by an old rival, and here he was, asking him questions about something he liked with a grin on his face like he was looking for an opening. 

“Okay, since you’re telling me things about yourself, how about I tell you one about me?” he offered as Ben pointed to the right, indicating he needed to turn. 

“I love reading James Patterson mystery novels,” he said in a rush. “I mean, not even just Patterson. Whichever trashy, cliché, predictable mystery novel there is, I read it. I have shelves full of them.” 

Ben chuckled, another fry sticking halfway out of his mouth. “Not embarrassing enough.” 

“Fine,” he said with a huff. “I have the bartenders pour apple juice into my glasses instead of scotch because I hate it but everyone I know drinks it,” he said. “How’s that?” 

Ben was already laughing so hard he couldn’t answer the question. In his laughter, his free hand that wasn’t holding the bag of food landed on George’s arm, resting between them. He left it there, and George decided he was going to have to say far more embarrassing things if this was how he could get Benjamin to touch him. 

“That is both embarrassing and kind of adorable,” Ben finally acknowledged. “Far more embarrassing than I asked for.” 

“Looks like you’re going to have to make up the difference,” George pointed out. “Go ahead, embarrass yourself.” 

They had pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex near the university. Ben squinted out the window toward the second floor. 

“How’s this,” he said, his hand on George’s arm tightening for just a moment. “How about I thank you for this food and your patience with my terrible caddy skills –”

“You weren’t terrible –”

“Yes I was,” Ben insisted. “And you stood up for me at dinner. Why don’t I repay you by inviting you upstairs?” 

George was about to say no, about to tell Ben that he was an old man, far too old for spontaneous one night stands with young men he’d just met, far too old and traditional for something like this, but Ben’s hand was on his arm again, sliding up to his bicep, to his shoulder, to his neck, where he traced the smooth edge of George’s jaw, his eyes that perfect shade of blue that mesmerized George the moment he saw him. 

“Now, are you doing this because you think I need to be repaid, or because you want to?” George asked, swallowing thickly around the tantalizing feel of Ben’s fingers as they traced the column of his throat. 

“The repayment was just a ruse, sir,” Ben said like it was a secret. “Come upstairs and help me forget that disastrous dinner ever happened.” 

“Your wish is my command, my dear boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alex wasn’t home when Ben unlocked the door, George peering curiously over his shoulder. He hoped Alex had followed through on his promise to clean their apartment, because if it wasn’t clean, there would be a whole lot of mess for Ben to navigate in the dark. As it was, he could see an old can of soda perched on the table right by the door, festering beside the bowl that usually held their keys. He dropped his keys into it, squinting into the dark to see if he could find anymore obstacles. 

He didn’t intend to turn on the light to find out. 

He had thought George would be like the rest of the men at the country club: snobby, uptight, and, above all, condescending. But he was immediately pleasantly surprised when George smiled at him, his gaze soft and kind. It was a relief to find someone other than his friends that didn’t talk to him like he was a stupid child; it was even more relieving to find it was someone who actually listened when he spoke. There was something intoxicating about the way George listened, and absorbed what Ben said. 

He didn’t remember anyone ever listening to him like that, except his closest friends. And George didn’t even know him. 

And then there was George himself. Ben had always joked about having a penchant for older men, but he’d never been with one. But as soon as George smirked when Ben called him “sir,” as soon as he lowered his gaze to the ground when Ben responded eagerly to him, Ben knew he had to take a chance. 

He didn’t usually put himself out there; he was too afraid of rejection, but something in the way George looked at him, with a little bit of wistfulness, told him that if he didn’t make the first move, no one would. 

He closed the door behind George, reaching for the man’s sleeve in the dark and pulling him forward. George, with a half laugh under his breath, took the hint and gently pushed Ben against the front door, surveying his face in the dark. Ben was suddenly aware that George was a good deal taller than him, and larger. His shoulders could easily hold Ben’s entire frame. Just seeing the way George’s body engulfed him made him giddy. 

As if reading his mind, George’s hand carefully tilted Ben’s chin upward to give him a good angle for a first kiss. At least, that’s what Ben thought he was doing. Instead, George leaned in, close enough that Ben was practically squirming against the door, and held back, his lips stretching into a teasing smile. 

“Impatient…” it sounded like an admonishment, but it was whispered so softly that Ben went immediately still. He didn’t respond; that seemed like the wrong answer. Instead, Ben let his left hand slink up George’s side until it reached his waist, still clad in the same dark blue dress shirt and gold tie. The soft pressure of his fingers chased a breath from George’s lips, and it was Ben’s turn to smirk. 

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” he asked. 

George laughed, a quiet chuckle that was somehow even deeper than his speaking voice and leaned even closer, just slightly to Ben’s left, and nudged his chin even higher with the bridge of his nose. The move was so familiar, so intimate, that Ben sighed in contentment, a whole different feeling than the buzzing electricity he’d felt at the prospect of having a one night stand with the hot older man from the country club. 

The first press of George’s lips wasn’t against Ben’s lips but his neck, a gentle pressure that sent Ben’s pulse spiraling out of control. George could feel the frenzied beating against his lips as his slid just slightly up, to the juncture of Ben’s neck and jaw. 

Ben’s hand tightened almost painfully against George’s waist, fisting the material of his shirt tight as George breathed a laugh against his skin and moved to a new piece of skin to kiss and very gently nibble. 

“Tease,” Ben hissed as George let on hand drop to Ben’s thigh. Instead of laughing, George squeezed, sending another sound tumbling from Ben’s mouth. 

“Mhm,” George mumbled against his neck, pulling Ben’s hips tight against his own. “And you calling me ‘sir’ all afternoon was what, exactly?” 

Ben smirked, and didn’t answer. After a moment, George pulled away and surveyed Ben’s face with a faux-stern look. 

“Call it testing the waters,” Ben finally said. “And I do like calling you sir, sir.” 

Ben hoped that teasing him with that word would spur George into finally kissing him for real, would finally push the man over the edge. But still, he held back, maddeningly so, and very gently cupped Ben’s face with his hand. 

“I’m not going to have sex with you tonight, Benjamin,” he said softly. “No matter how much I want to.” At Ben’s dissatisfied sigh, George hastened to add, “I’m not at the age that a one night stand is a satisfying end to anything. If you would allow me to, I’d like to actually take you on a date.” 

“Can I make one demand, at least?” Ben asked. George, who had gone tense during his explanation, relaxed a little. Ben let his hand at George’s side come to rest at his neck. 

“I suppose you can,” George replied with a smile. 

“Kiss me before you go,” Ben said, his thumb brushing the edge of George’s bottom lip. 

“Is that an order?” George asked playfully, already leaning closer, close enough that Ben could see the shadow of his eyelashes in the dark. 

“Call it a request, sir,” Ben whispered. 

George was smiling when he kissed him, his hand on Ben’s cheek falling to rest near his throat. For a moment, Ben allowed himself to get lost in it, in the feel of George’s body pressed against his own, in the tenderness of the kiss that was just as comforting as it was irritatingly slow and languid. 

But then he realized that George’s mouth tasted like apple juice. 

He wanted to keep kissing him, he wanted to keep him there, leaning against his front door forever so he could explore every inch of his skin, but now that he had identified that the man tasted like apple juice, he couldn’t stop tasting it. 

Ben pulled away with a laugh, a giddy, childish laugh that made George smile even while the man looked confused and slightly worried. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, putting his hand on George’s chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just –” he laughed again, the giggles overtaking him for a moment. “You – you taste like apple juice.” 

George looked shocked for a second before he started laughing. “I told you I hate scotch, Benjamin,” he said faux-sternly. “I do not lie.” 

“I know, sir,” Ben said with a smile. “It was just…it was nice.” 

“Nice?” George repeated, offended. “Just nice?” 

Before Ben could tell him that nice was a good thing, he didn’t mean it like that, George had pushed him completely against the door and pressed his lips firmly against his again, this time angling his hips just so, where he could pull a hand free from Ben’s neck and let it trail slowly down his side to the button of his pants. 

Ben wanted to be ashamed of the strangled gasp George’s touch pulled from his mouth, but he was too busy pulling the man ever closer to him, his fingers reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He managed to get two of them open before George slid his open palm over the bulge in his pants, and Ben forgot how to use his hands. Instead, he leaned heavily against the door, trusting the wood to hold him up while George peppered kisses on his neck and the exposed bit of his collarbone that he could reach. 

“I thought –” George’s fingers deftly undid the button of his pants and slid the zipper down, and Ben was actually pretty certain he was going to faint, “I thought – you weren’t going to sleep with me,” he said, his voice breathy. 

George, far too slow for Ben’s liking, slid his hand under the material of his jeans and over Ben’s erection, teasing the hardened length with his hand. Ben’s hips jerked into the pressure, and George smiled. 

“I’m not,” he said, pulling his hand out of Ben’s pants and stepping away from him. “It was a pleasure having you as a caddy, Benjamin. I’ll pick you up for dinner tomorrow at 8.” 

He was marvelously disheveled, his hair messy and sticking up on one side, his shirt half unbuttoned. Ben could do nothing but stare in shock as George cleared his throat, reached for the doorknob, and pressed one more firm kiss to Ben’s lips before he slipped out the door and down the stairs. 

“That was very rude, sir,” Ben called down the stairs. George’s laugh echoed up at him. 

***

Ben returned to work the next morning, a smile on his face, hoping that he’d at least get a glimpse of George. Rich men were always at country clubs, weren’t they? He didn’t know, truthfully, but it made the idea of going to work a little more bearable, especially when he knew he would have to see Bradford. 

He wouldn’t have a problem with Bradford if the man ever learned how to shut his mouth. And, a few years ago, that’s exactly what Ben liked about him. They went to Yale together, often ended up in the same classes despite their different majors, and it was soon apparent to Ben that while Bradford was a whole lot of talk, he was a completely different man underneath. 

Their night together was explosive, rough and full of chemistry, but Ben knew it would only be one time. Bradford was not comfortable with the idea of being gay, and he made sure everyone knew that he liked girls. 

“Why would I ever need to be with a man when I have girls throwing themselves at me every day?” he told Ben in class the day after their one night stand. Ben didn’t answer; he was used to men like this, ones that hated themselves for who they loved. He used to be one of them. 

Men like Bradford were the whole reason he didn’t speak to his family anymore; his brothers were just like Bradford, full of bravado and hot air and a whole lot of confidence. Ben was exhausted just trying to keep up with them. All through high school, he had to hear that he was “just like his older brother William,” or “why can’t you be more like your brothers?”

But he wasn’t anything like his brothers, he wanted to shout. He was a different man, he could never be like them. They had wives, and fortunes, and happy careers that brought them lots of money. He didn’t want any of that. He wanted a happy life, with someone he loved, doing what he loved. A rich career and a wife didn’t factor into his plans. 

He always suspected his mother knew that he was gay, but it wasn’t until his younger brother Isaac blurted it out at Thanksgiving dinner that Ben realized she would have been perfectly content never having to confront that particular bit of information about her son. She didn’t say anything, but stared at Ben, waiting for him to deny it. His father didn’t look at him at all. 

But he was a reverend, someone who put his life in God’s hands, and a gay son…well, God didn’t help him plan for that. 

That was three years ago – Ben hadn’t spoken to his family since. He didn’t want to think about them now, but it was times like this that he wished his brothers still spoke to him. His younger brother Samuel would have liked George. He would have thought he was charming and funny. 

He struggled to put the thought out of his head as he pushed open the door to the employee lounge, his eyes automatically searching for Bradford. When he didn’t find him, he felt his tense shoulders relax just slightly. 

“Ben!” Philomena was as chipper as ever, even at eight in the morning. “Coffee?” 

“Please,” he replied, letting Philomena’s easy happiness chase away the dark clouds his family had brought about. He itched to tell Philomena what happened the night before, but there were too many people around, too many listening ears. Instead, he took the Styrofoam cup of coffee gratefully from her offering hands and let her talk. 

“Pegs and I are going to go out to Philly for our anniversary next month,” she said breathily. “Her father is going to pay for the whole thing –”

“So Peggy’s father is finally coming around?” Ben asked, the idea putting a strain on his heart. Peggy’s father had reacted much like Ben’s own when he found out his daughter was dating a woman, and that had been his initial moment of bonding with her. But…if Peggy’s father could change his mind, why not Ben’s?

“He’s moving slowly, but Pegs made it clear that if he didn’t give us a chance, she would never speak to him again,” Philomena said, taking a sip of her own coffee. “She’s a scary woman sometimes.” 

Ben nodded in agreement. “That’s why I generally avoid making her angry.” 

“Me too,” Philomena replied with a laugh. 

The door to the lounge swung open again and for a moment, Ben was sure it was going to be Bradford. Instead, it was Anna, her long dark hair pulled into a loose bun. “Benjamin Tallmadge, you little shit, you were supposed to call me last night and tell me how your first day went!” 

“I can give you the shortened version,” Ben said. “I had to caddy, even though I know nothing about golf, I definitely almost punched Bradford in the face –”

“That guy is such a tool,” Anna agreed, moving past them both to the fridge for a bottle of water. 

“Yes, he is,” Ben said, before swiftly moving past him, “And then I went home, slept, and here I am.” 

“So you mean to tell me that George Washington drove you home last night with his chef special dinner in a bag for you and that’s all you’ve got to say about your evening?” Philomena nudged his arm with her elbow, her eyes alight and playful. “Come on, Benny boy, spill.” 

“You went home with Washington last night?” Anna asked, her bottle of water halfway to her mouth. “You little slut.” 

“Would the both of you keep your voices down?” Ben hissed, glancing over his shoulder. 

Philomena immediately looked apologetic. “No one’s going to be an asshole about it, Ben, I promise. Or Anna will kick their ass.” 

“Well, you know Bradford,” Ben shrugged. “So I’d like to keep this quiet, if you two don’t mind.” 

“I’m still totally telling Mary,” Anna said, finally taking a drink from her water. “If that’s okay with you,” she amended when Ben narrowed his eyes at her. 

“If you trust her,” Ben said with a sigh. 

Philomena arched her long neck, surveying the people in the room. “Why don’t we take a walk near the tennis courts and you can tell us what happened last night,” she looped her arm through Ben’s and he realized it was not a question, but a demand. 

The sun outside was bright and inviting, but the wind was brisk and soon, Ben was breathing in the steam from his cup of coffee and relishing in the body heat that Philomena’s side gave off. The tennis courts were empty; Anna’s first class started at nine in the morning. 

“No one’s going to be on the courts for another half hour,” Anna confirmed, nudging the gate open with her foot. “Come, sit.” 

She directed him to the bench between the courts that often held extra rackets and bottles of water. Ben allowed himself to be led, still trying to decide how much to spill. He itched to tell someone about George, but what happened the night before also felt like something he needed to keep secret, something he should keep to himself. 

“Spill,” Anna prompted, fixing her childhood friend with a grin. “I want all the details.” 

“I don’t know…” Ben trailed off. “It…it doesn’t feel like something I should talk about.” 

Philomena nodded. “I felt like that when Peggy and I first started dating, too. You don’t have to tell us anything, Ben,” she said sincerely, her blue eyes wide and understanding. “But I don’t want you to feel like you need to keep this a secret just because George is a man. We aren’t going to judge you.” 

“Yeah, we’re all gay here anyway,” Anna shrugged. Philomena laughed lightly at the easy way she said it, but after a moment, Anna smiled softly at Ben. “We aren’t your family. We support you. So you can tell us if you want, or we can just sit here and enjoy the quiet before you have to go deal with rich assholes and I have to deal with rich, bratty children.” 

Ben smiled and let the silence hold for a while. Instead, he surveyed the country club in more detail. From here, he could see the clubhouse and the parking lot full of golf carts. To his left, more tennis courts, and farther on, the terrace, where women in sundresses with loose linen cardigans were sipping mimosas. It was idyllic, to see it all like this. But it would never be his life, he knew that. He was staff. 

“There’s not much to tell,” he said finally, and both women leaned closer to hear him better. “He drove me home, he made me tell him about Antiques Roadshow –”

“Oh, Benny boy, you didn’t –”

“I did,” Ben laughed his first real laugh of the day. “He told me about the apple juice thing.” 

Philomena laughed, a loud, careless laugh that pulled giggles from Anna and Ben. “Oh yes, the apple juice. Did he tell you that he likes a specific kind of apple juice too?” 

“Philomena Cheer, you better tell me –”

“Mott’s,” she blurted, covering her mouth immediately after. 

“Oh my god, he’s a grown man child,” Ben laughed, feeling a rush of affection for George. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a grown man child.” 

“So you didn’t sleep with him,” Anna confirmed. 

Ben shrugged. “I mean, not for a lack of trying, but apparently, he wants to take me on a date first.” 

Philomena, beside him, leaned closer. “He wants to take you on a date? Ben, that’s adorable.” Ben smiled, unwilling to say exactly what he thought, but he felt the sun warm his skin. It was nice, sitting here with his friends that were unapologetically telling him that it was okay to be himself, that it was okay to like George. 

But that didn’t get rid of the nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his mother that something would go wrong; it always did.


End file.
